Old Friends, New Friends

by Margaret Thornton

  ‘Simon’s really good, isn’t he?’ said Debbie as he went out again. ‘Very helpful.’

  ‘Yes, he’s one in a million,’ said Fiona, ‘and don’t think I don’t realize it, because I do. Meeting Simon was the best thing that ever happened to me. And then having the children, of course. And finding you again, Debbie. That was an unexpected bonus. I know I’m a very lucky lady. But I do have to remind myself – more and more just lately – to count my blessings. What do I have to be depressed about? A happy home, wonderful husband, lovely children …’

  Debbie did not tell her that Simon had mentioned this, and that he was worried about her. She did not want Fiona to know that they had been discussing her.

  ‘I don’t think that has very much to do with it,’ she replied. ‘If you’re feeling depressed there doesn’t have to be a definite reason for it, does there? It’s a sort of illness. You can be ill in your mind, just as you can be in your body. I don’t know a great deal about it, but my friend Shirley – her mum was feeling like that last year. And there was no apparent reason for it. She’s over it now. She went to see the doctor and she was on a course of medication – tranquillizers, I suppose – for a while, and she seems to be OK again now.’

  ‘I’ve been to the doctor,’ said Fiona. ‘He’s a very understanding sort of man. He said more or less what you’ve just said; that I mustn’t feel guilty about it. I’ve been taking some pills, which I don’t like doing – I’ve never been keen on pills or medicine of any kind – but I don’t feel that they’ve done me much good. I’ve cheered up no end, though, with you being here. It’s done me a world of good seeing you again, Debbie; and I’m trying to get things into perspective.’

  ‘A change of company is always good,’ said Debbie.

  ‘Especially yours …’ Fiona smiled at her fondly.

  ‘Well, I’m glad if I’ve cheered you up. It’s great for me as well, to see you again. You must go back to the doctor, though, Fiona. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in seeking help.’

  ‘No, that’s what Simon says, and my friend Joan.’

  ‘It could be a belated reaction to what has happened to you in the past,’ said Debbie. ‘You recovered remarkably well after the triplets were born, didn’t you? And that was a very traumatic time.’

  ‘Yes, that’s true. But I did get a lot of help with them for the first few months.’

  ‘And you had problems before that, didn’t you? With some of the people in the church …’

  ‘Yes; when they found out that Stella was not my first child …’ She nodded. ‘That’s all forgiven and forgotten now, I hope. But you’re right; sometimes events cast a long shadow. The past is always there, a part of us, even though we may try to put it behind us … How come you’re so wise, Debbie?’

  ‘I don’t think I am,’ Debbie laughed. ‘But I do know that I’ve grown up a lot over the last two years. I’ve started to consider other people more; not just thinking about myself. I was a selfish little madam, and awkward, too.’

  ‘You’re a spirited lass, I know that,’ smiled Fiona. ‘Don’t ever lose your enthusiasm for life, Debbie … Ah, here’s Simon with our supper.’

  He handed round the mugs of hot chocolate and a plate with a selection of biscuits. He sat on the settee next to his wife, unashamedly dunking his ginger biscuit in his drink.

  ‘My dad does that,’ laughed Debbie. ‘But sometimes he leaves it in too long and makes a real mess, and Mum gets cross with him.’

  ‘There’s an art to it,’ said Simon, seriously. ‘Just a few seconds immersion and no more. Don’t tell anyone about my childish habit, will you?’

  ‘I think your devoted flock would forgive you anything,’ said Fiona patting his hand.

  ‘Maybe so,’ he smiled. ‘I don’t think anything they hear about us can shock them any more, do you, darling?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ Fiona knew to what he was referring. Her train of thought led her to Greg and his brother, Graham.

  ‘We saw Greg a couple of weeks ago,’ she told Debbie. ‘He came on a surprise visit and brought his fiancée. That certainly was a surprise, wasn’t it, Simon?’

  ‘Indeed it was,’ replied Simon, ‘although Greg is twenty-six now, so I suppose it is time he was thinking about settling down. We liked Marcia very much. She came to work in their office about six months ago, and they realized at once, apparently, that that was it!’

  ‘Love at first sight,’ commented Debbie. ‘So it can happen?’

  ‘Most certainly,’ said Simon, nodding assuredly. He put his arm round his wife. ‘Like it did with us.’

  ‘Well … almost,’ said Fiona. ‘I had to be very sure that you really wanted me. You were such an important person! The rector of St Peter’s, no less!’

  ‘Well, I knew at once,’ he said. ‘They’re getting married next year, Greg and Marcia. It will be in Manchester, of course.’

  ‘And he told us that Graham has found a post in Leeds,’ said Fiona. ‘So you may meet up with him again, Debbie.’

  Debbie’s ears pricked up then. It was quite a while since she had seen Graham Challinor, Greg’s younger brother …

  Greg was Simon’s son from a previous relationship, a son of whom he had had no knowledge until the young man had turned up at the rectory one day in the spring of 1966.

  Simon had served as a navigator in the RAF during the Second World War, an important member of a bomber crew. It was a time when life was lived at fever pitch. He had fallen in love with Yvonne, a WAAF girl who was stationed at the same camp near Lincoln. But circumstances had parted them and they had gone their separate ways. Gregory – Greg, as he was always called – had not known about Simon until the man he had always believed to be his father had died. It had not taken him long to trace his real father. It had been a tremendous shock to Simon, but the two of them had taken to one another straight away. They had become firm friends over the past few years, more like brothers than father and son. Just as, two years later, Fiona and Debbie had been reunited and had become very close to one another. It was little wonder, therefore, that Simon often remarked how nothing that the family at the rectory could do would come as a surprise to the congregation any more.

  Debbie, inevitably, had met Greg and his half-brother, Graham. On that momentous day in early November 1968 when Fiona, a month early, gave birth to triplets, the three young people had all been staying at the rectory having attended a brass band concert the previous evening. They had shared in the trauma of the difficult birth, their concern for Fiona forming a bond between them. Consequently Simon and Fiona had asked the three of them to act as godparents to the three babies.

  Debbie had found them both to be very personable young men. Greg was like a younger version of Simon, and Graham was attractive, too, in a different way. At that time Graham had been in his second year at Leeds University, studying architecture.

  Fiona was now saying that he had found a post as a junior in a firm of architects in the city of Leeds. Debbie had not seen him since the christening. She had not really given much thought to him either as she had been busy studying for her A levels and had been working part-time at the garden centre.

  ‘Yes, it would be good to see Graham again,’ she said, trying not to sound overenthusiastic, although she had a certain interest stirring in her at the thought of seeing him again. ‘He’s living in Leeds, then?’

  ‘Yes; he’s got digs, like you have. In Headingley, Greg told us, but I’m not sure just where. We can ask Greg to let Graham know that you’re in Leeds. It would be nice to meet up with someone you know. You’ll make friends, of course, but it’s sure to feel a little strange at first. You’ll like Leeds, though. There are lots of lovely shops and arcades, and it’s an interesting city.’

  Debbie knew that Fiona had been born and brought up in Leeds, although her memories of her early days were not all happy ones.

  ‘And Greg’s doing well, is he?’ she asked. He was a partner in a firm of solicitors.


  ‘Yes; he’s well established in the firm now,’ Simon answered. ‘He deals mainly with the property cases. He says he’s selling his own flat, and he and Marcia are going to buy a house. We got the impression that she doesn’t want to wait long before they start a family.’

  ‘So you would be a grandad, Simon,’ remarked Debbie. ‘You don’t look old enough.’

  ‘I feel it at times!’ he replied. ‘But I’ve got quite enough to cope with, being a father, at the moment. We’ve only been married five years and we’ve already got four children!’

  ‘What do you mean, already?’ asked Fiona, giving him an odd look. ‘Don’t tell me you want any more?’

  ‘No,’ he reassured her. ‘Just a slip of the tongue. We’ve decided that our family is complete, haven’t we, darling?’ They looked at one another lovingly, and Debbie mused, as she had done before, that theirs was a very amorous relationship.

  They all retired to bed soon afterwards. Tomorrow was Sunday, Simon’s busiest day of the week. Debbie was looking forward to visiting St Peter’s church again. She had been made welcome there and had felt at home. There was a warm and friendly ambience to the place, and she knew that that was due, in no small part, to the influence of the rector and his wife.

  Four

  The organ was playing softly when Debbie, Fiona and Stella walked into the church the following morning. Simon had gone earlier, and they had just left the three little ones in the crèche. The young women of the congregation took it in turns to look after the babies and toddlers in the church hall during the service. The older children stayed in church for a while, then went out when the sermon started, to their Sunday School classes in the rooms adjoining the hall.

  This was an experiment that had been started some two years earlier, and it had been found to work well. Simon had realized that the church had to move with the times. More and more people were getting cars and wanted to go out as a family on a Sunday afternoon. The long established afternoon Sunday School was suffering as a result, hence the decision to change to the morning. There had been an added benefit in that several parents had started to attend the morning service along with their children.

  Stella, at not quite four years of age, was really rather young for the infant class, but as she was so sensible and well behaved – and because her father was the rector! – she had been allowed to start a little earlier. She trotted off to the front of the church to join her friends and her Sunday School teacher.

  St Peter’s was an ancient church, parts of it dating from the fifteenth century. There was a faint musty smell, common to all churches of that era, comprised of the dust from old hymn books, polish, and the fragrance of the late summer roses on the altar and on the closed lid of the font at the entrance. There was no smell of incense, however. The worship at this parish church did not consist of ‘bells and smells’ as it did in some of the more high Anglican churches. Simon thought of himself as a ‘middle of the road’ sort of vicar, although he was able to see the points of view of other clergymen, and did not criticize or condemn, provided they were sincere in what they believed and preached.

  Debbie sat down next to Fiona in the pew a few rows from the front and, following her lead, leaned forward, bowing her head to say a brief silent prayer. It was not customary here to kneel down, although some of the older members did so. The building did not feel cold despite the high roof and stone floor and the huge stone pillars. A gentle heat issued from the iron grilles along the centre aisle, and the sun streamed through the stained-glass windows. Debbie looked up at the east windows above the altar depicting the story of Jesus from birth to crucifixion, with Christ in glory in the centre. It evoked in her a feeling of peace and that all was right with the world, for that moment at least, away from all the cares and problems of daily life.

  The woman in the pew behind leaned forward to whisper ‘Hello.’ Debbie recognized her as Joan Tweedale, Fiona’s friend, who kept a handicraft shop on the High Street. ‘Hello, Debbie,’ she said. ‘Nice to see you again. Off to college soon, aren’t you? I wish you all the best, my dear …’

  The conversation stopped as the organist – who was, in fact, Joan’s husband – struck up with the chords of the opening hymn. The congregation stood as the choir, churchwardens and the rector processed round the church, from the vestry at the side then down the centre aisle.

  When morning gilds the skies, my heart awakening cries,

  May Jesus Christ be praised …

  The choir of men, women and teenagers – both boys and girls – sang harmoniously and the people joined in with enthusiasm. Debbie thought, as she always did, how striking Simon looked in his clerical robes; the white surplice and simple blue stole; he rarely went in for a great deal of adornment except on special occasions.

  The hymns were all ones that she knew, including one of her favourites, a more modern hymn, ‘How Great Thou Art’. They used a more avant-garde sort of hymn book now as well as the old established ‘Ancient and Modern’, an innovation that Simon had introduced. Another new venture, which had not been popular at first with all the members of the congregation, was the guitar group. The group of older teenagers played and sang their own version of ‘Go, Tell It On The Mountain’. Several of the people, though by no means all, clapped quite vigorously at the end. Applause was something which, at one time, had never been heard in a church service.

  Simon’s sermon was about God being there in times of trouble, not only in the great tragedies of life but when you might be feeling a little bit down and dispirited, and finding that life was a struggle. She wondered if he had Fiona in mind; probably not just his wife, though. You could not tell what troubles other people might have, things deeply hidden, maybe, that they felt they could not discuss with anyone. Debbie’s chief worry now was tomorrow and what might be in store for her in Leeds. What would her digs be like, and her flatmates? Would she get on with them? Would she take to the course? Maybe a quick prayer would help, but she knew that she had to take her courage in both hands and help herself as well.

  After the service a few people recognized Debbie and came to speak to her.

  ‘So you’re off to college? Jolly good! I hope you enjoy it …’

  ‘I thought college was tremendous fun …’

  ‘So you’re going to study gardening? Would you like to come and have a go with mine? I’m fighting a losing battle with the weeds …’

  She had heard this sort of remark many times from people who heard of her unusual choice of career. If what they said was true she would not be short of work in the future!

  ‘Hello, my dear. It’s Debbie, isn’t it?’ She recognized this lady as Mrs Ethel Bayliss, the wife of the churchwarden and, she knew, a one-time adversary of Fiona. One of the ‘old brigade’ who did not like change of any kind. But apparently the woman herself had changed over the years and was now much more amenable.

  ‘Yes, I’m Debbie,’ she replied. ‘Hello, Mrs Bayliss. How are you? You are looking well, I must say.’

  The rather plump lady was smartly dressed as always in a tweed suit of pale green, with a frilly blouse showing at the neck and a large straw hat with an artificial flower at the side.

  ‘Mustn’t grumble, my dear. I’m very fit … considering that I’ll be seventy-two next birthday!’ she whispered coyly.

  ‘Well, fancy that! You don’t look it,’ replied Debbie, although the lady did, in fact, look every day of it.

  ‘And good morning to you too, Fiona, my dear,’ the woman said. ‘You’re doing a grand job with all those babies. I take my hat off to you; I do really …’ She glided away like a ship in full sail to shake hands with Simon at the door.

  Fiona chuckled. ‘She acts like she’s my bosom friend now, but I’m still rather wary of her. And you’re quite a diplomat, aren’t you? You’d make a good vicar’s wife!’

  ‘Now, you will write, won’t you, and let us know how you’re getting on. Or ring us; there’ll be a phone in your digs, I expect?’ Fiona sou
nded more concerned about the start of Debbie’s college course than she was herself.

  ‘I don’t know till I get there,’ she replied. ‘I should think there’ll be a phone. But there are phone boxes, and I’ll certainly write. It isn’t as if I shall be a million miles away, though.’

  ‘No, but it’s a new experience for you, isn’t it, living away from home for the first time? Now … take care of yourself, love, and have a good time. I’m sure you will once you settle down there. You’re going to study for your career; that’s the main thing, but I’m sure there’ll be lots of other interesting things to do as well.’

  It seemed as though Fiona could not stop talking, trying to hold on to the last few minutes before Debbie set off on the journey to Leeds. They were both a little tearful. As Debbie said, it was not a million miles away, only forty miles or so from Aberthwaite to Leeds. Debbie had already had one parting from her parents in Whitesands Bay, but this one for some reason seemed even more poignant.

  The two young women, Fiona and her first-born child, Debbie, had become very close. There was a bond between them, one of blood when all was said and done, and they felt responsible for one another. Vera, up in Northumberland, was still ‘Mum’ to Debbie. The woman who had loved and cared for her and brought her up had never felt like anything else, and Debbie had made sure that Vera knew how she felt about her, and her father, as well. Fortunately there had never been any animosity or jealousy between Fiona and Vera.

  ‘Come along now; let’s get on our way,’ said Simon. He opened the boot and put in Debbie’s two large suitcases, her cassette player, and a box of tapes, books and odds and ends. There was another cardboard box, too, containing tinned food – salmon, ham, corned beef and fruit – and a home-made fruitcake and packets of biscuits. Both Vera and Fiona had contributed to this, knowing that girls at college and living in digs would find the contents very useful. ‘I want to get back by early afternoon if I can,’ he added.